


bodhi week 2017

by cassandor



Series: to fight or take flight (away beyond the sky) [5]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon Compliant, Jedha, M/M, Modern AU, Pre-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, bodhi backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:07:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/pseuds/cassandor
Summary: a collection of all my fics for @bodhirookweek. all chapters fit into the same canon except the modern au chapter. (pre-canon backstory, then 'missing' canon scenes, and then everyone-lives au).





	1. different kinds of love

Bodhi hops out of the X-Wing, pulling the helmet off and shaking his hair out all in one fluid movement. 

He nods at the other members of Rogue Squadron, whooping and cheering as they hug each other. _Where is he?_

“Bo!” 

He turns to see Jyn barreling towards him, a grin plastered across her face. 

“Jyn!” he exclaims and they collide in a hug. She’s short enough that he can pick her up and twirl her around.

“It’s gone,” she says, “It’s finally gone.” She looks up at him, eyes shining with joy.

“He’ll be proud of us,” Bodhi says warmly. Jyn nods, burying her face in his chest. Amidst all the celebration, they stay still, a moment of thanks for Galen’s sacrifice.

And then Bodhi’s eyes are skimming over the faces in the crowd. _Where is he_?

Jyn looks up at him, a grin forming on her face. “He’s the hero of the hour, you know.” 

“Is it _that_ obvious?”

“What’s obvious?” Cassian materializes out of the crowd, smiling. He nods at Jyn who motions for him to join them. Cassian’s eyes flit between Jyn and Bodhi before pulling them both in a hug, one arm around Bodhi’s shoulders, ruffling his hair, and another on Jyn’s back.

Bodhi shakes his head. “Nothing. How was the show from down here?”

“Like a giant firework exploded across the sky,” Cassian replies. “A hard earned one.”

“How were the… err… locals?” 

Cassian laughs. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re quite ferocious for their size. I’m glad they were on our side.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Bodhi grins, eyes twinkling, but there’s still a little uneasiness at the bottom of his stomach. 

“Ah, that was the obvious thing you were talking about,” Cassian says with a smile. Jyn grins when Bodhi groans, covering his face. 

“Patience, Bodhi.” It’s Chirrut’s turn to surprise him, making his way through the crowd of rebels, Baze following in his wake. “He’s with his friends. And you have us.” He takes his gloved hand and squeezes it with a smile. 

Bodhi cringes, a flush spreading across his face. “A-ah, I didn’t mea-” 

Baze chuckles, one hand on Bodhi’s shoulder. “Chirrut, you’re embarrassing the poor boy.” Bodhi makes a choked noise. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

Jyn lightly tugs at Bodhi’s flightsuit. “Come,” she says. “Join the celebration! He’ll find you when he’s ready.” 

And with that, Bodhi follows Jyn’s lead into the thick of the revelry: Rebels and Ewoks cheering and dancing around campfires, night sky dotted with distant systems and the remains of the Empire.

It’s an interesting sight. There are beings of all shapes, species, and sizes: Jyn, small and slight but fierce, tugging lanky, awkward but brave Bodhi behind her as they toast the fall of the Empire; Cassian’s eyes twinkling as he laughs - really laughs - at Bodhi’s reaction to the Ewoks’ brews (”It’s _strong”_ he whines later), arm firmly wrapped around Jyn’s side; Chirrut and Baze close behind, all watchful eyes and bright smiles (the blind mystic and the gruff warrior who normally would stand out among any group - but here, here they were another part of the loving family). 

_Love._

At some point, a slightly inebriated Bodhi looks out at the crowd - his newfound family (a sister and a friend and loving parents), his friends (his squadron, his bunkmate, his partner in crime), and his gaze settles on a pair of blue eyes heading in his direction. 

Jyn smiles at him, lets go of his hand and Bodhi, mumbling a _thank you_ , pushes past the crowd. 

Luke is carrying a newfound weight - Bodhi’s not sure _what_ it is, not yet, but when he nears the solemn look on Luke’s face dissolves into the bright smile Bodhi knows and loves - _truly_  loves - best. 

_Love._


	2. do something about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 18th: “Above his pay grade”
> 
> I realized I’ve never written any part of the canon from Bodhi’s POV yet, so here’s this to change that!

By the time Jedha looms in Bodhi’s viewport he’s begun to suspect that Galen’s encouragement has worn off. His hands are shaking at the controls, which rarely _ever_ happens while he’s flying – not since his Academy exams – and his breathing is short and ragged.

_Get this to Saw. Get this to the Rebellion. It’s our only hope for redemption._

Is it Galen’s voice in his mind, or is he mouthing the words himself?

 _Redemption, redemption_.

Jedha is barren. Not that it was a lush, green moon before it fell in the Empire’s greedy hands, but it once exuded an aura of peace and calm.

Now all that was gone, and Jedha looked as empty as Bodhi felt. Which was all his own fault.

 _Redemption_.

He licks his lips, throat dry from anticipation. Of course he knew what his shipments carried. In the Empire’s eyes, he was _just_ a cargo pilot. That didn’t mean he was stupid.

Or was he? Galen had appealed to his better senses – _look at what they’ve done to your homeworld; stripped it bare; suffocated its spirit_ – but for what? To help him and his cause? Throwing away everything he knew (the Empire was evil, but it put food on their plate so who was he to judge?) for what?

 _Redemption_.

It was too late to back out now, anyways.

The datachip is clenched firmly in Bodhi’s hands, so much that he’s shaking from the effort, as he descends the landing ramp.

“Take me to Saw,” he says to the motley group of rebels – _Partisans_ , actually. “I’ve got a message from Galen Erso.” He lifts up the datachip, which glints in the light. It’s snatched away by the leader.

He expects a warm welcome. Instead, several pairs of eyes flit to the Imperial insignia on his flight suit.

“I’ve defected,” he says, as a mean of explanation. “I-“

_Redemption._

The word catches in his throat when the bag goes over his head.

* * *

Fury, fury, fury.

It’s the only thing that’s keeping Bodhi alive.

He wants to scream.

_Don’t you see what you’re doing!? You’re wasting time! Time we don’t have! Take me to Saw!_

Maybe they _were_ taking him to Saw. He didn’t actually know. He didn’t know, just kept asking every time his hood was lifted: _Are you Saw? Are you Saw?_ Like a child lost in a bustling market. _Where’s Saw? Where’s Saw?_

_Where’s my mother? Ammi? Where are you? Ammi?_

Bodhi knew where his mother would be: in their small home on the outskirts of the Holy City, far enough away to label the city dwellers as ‘them’ and their neighbours as ‘us’. He didn’t know what time of day it was - the thick hood offered no help -  but he could picture her in their cozy kitchen, unaware that her son had become a traitor to the Empire.

His face was probably plastered all over the holofeeds now.

His throat is dry, from thirst and disgust. There goes his steady income. One could turn a blind eye to the Empire’s misdeeds if it paid the bills. Simply pick up cargo here, drop it off there. Don’t try and think about what horrors those stamped boxes contain.

_This weapon is to shoot unarmed civilians. This weapon will slip from stun to kill by ‘accident’ and leave a young girl for dead. These are parts for the superweapon. These machines will strip Jedha dry. These will spill beings’ blood, carving new bloody rivers in every planet and moon the Empire holds in its grasp._

Fear brings submission, and submission brings peace. 

Long live the Emperor, forever may he reign.

Fury, fury, fury.

He wants to scream in frustration.

_Why this? Why him? Why? Why?_

If he had kept his head down, he would still be shuffling between jobs. Joking with his friends maybe, grabbing a drink at their favourite spaceport.

Now his throat is parched, and his feet are blistering and cracking and bleeding from the long, long walk.

And they kept walking.

Fury, fury, fury. 

He wants to shout but his throat is too dry.

 _I’m not the bad guy!_ Was he? He wasn’t, right? Just in case - _Not anymore!_

_Stop treating me like a villain!_

He did deserve it, though. How was he able to drink with friends when innocent blood was being spilled? Shouldn’t it have caught in his throat? The truth is hard to swallow. _The credits you used to buy this, they’re the Emperor’s credits. A gift to you for helping him destroy the galaxy._

Did he not care before?

He wants to wail in despair.

Of course he knew before. He just ran away from it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Just drink and joke and party and laugh and stuff your ears with (Imperial-approved) comedic holofeeds on long journeys, fill your empty soul with nonsense and don’t let your brain stop and think:  _Why?_

It was one question that had gotten him in this mess. _What are you building here?_

And Galen had been all too eager to share.

(He had been happy. Bodhi was ecstatic that someone wanted – was even eager - to talk to him, even though the science was beyond his comfort zone. Now he realizes Galen had just found his newest recruit.)

Fury, fury, fury.

He wants to scream.

_Galen! Why did you choose me? Why?_

There were so many other Imperials he could’ve chosen. The lowest ranks of the Empire were filled with the destitute children of the Outer Rim. He wasn’t the only one out there that had signed up for the Academy out of desperation. _A well paying job, **and** the chance to fly. Fly away from all your problems, your insignificant life on Jedha. Just you and the stars and a paycheck._

What had Galen possibly seen in him?

* * *

(The answer was bravery.)


	3. it’s the differences that count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 19th: Jedha
> 
> I love Jedha!! I have so many headcanons I wanted to stuff them all in here (spice here means normal spice, not the drug kind of spice oops. yes technically only the holy city was destroyed but I think it’s safe to word it as if the entire moon itself was crumbling)

“You’re from home,” Chirrut said matter-of-factly. As usual, as if it wasn’t a surprise he knew.

Bodhi looks up from his clenched hands. 

“You’re from Jedha,” Chirrut repeats. “You carry her spirit in yours.” 

“I-I’m not… _from_ the Holy City. I’ve been, I had friends there, but…” 

“Cities make no difference when we’re talking about galaxies,” Chirrut replies. 

Baze grunts. “Chirrut, you know what they think of us.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen. “N-no. It’s not - it’s not you. Not the locals. It’s…” 

“Offworlders.” 

“W-we hated the pilgrims for bringing the Empire with them. Like a…” Bodhi waits for the right word. “L-Like a disease.” 

Chirrut inclines his head. “It’s a common belief.” 

They fall silent, the hum of the U-Wing roaring in Bodhi’s ears. Like the sound of Jedha crumbling. 

“H-how do you take your tea?“ Bodhi blurts, to muffle the sound. Baze makes a choked noise in surprise. Chirrut grins.

“That’s personal preference, isn’t it?”

“But I heard Guardians don’t take any milk. Or sugar. Or anything.”

“That’s not true. We take it with lemon.” Baze says gruffly. 

“Or spice.”

“ _Or spice_.” Baze nods. “Lots of cinnamon.” 

Bodhi grins. “Cinnamon and black pepper.” 

“Uh, no. Pepper is a no.”  

He closes his eyes, trying to remember the smell of the tea of his childhood. 

He sees the light filtering in through his window, and feels the ratty, warm blanket on his shoulders. His bare feet swinging off his bed, flinching at the chilly floor. He remembers leaving the bathroom shivering from the buckets of water, making his way to their small kitchen, lightly touching the kyber crystal hidden away on a shelf. 

He waits for the kettle’s shrill voice, and now he hears the screams of NiJedha instead. 

His hands start shaking again. 

“Bodhi,” Chirrut begins softly. 

He curls his hands into fists again, nails digging into his palms. _Think of something else_. 

“What did you think of our superstitions? As a Guardian, I mean,” Bodhi forces the question between clenched teeth, remembering his days at the Academy. Most beliefs he’d dismissed as pointless as soon as he began classes offworld. But some stuck, despite the Empire’s best efforts. 

“Like many beliefs, some were rooted in truth, others in misinterpretations,” Chirrut closes his eyes. “Most meant well.” 

Bodhi can physically feel the questions bubbling in his chest. _Was it really bad luck to yell through a doorway? Were you supposed to sleep along the poles of a planet or against them? Was it bad luck to let long hair down?_

Chirrut’s lips twitch into a smile, eyes still closed. “One at a time, Bodhi.” 

He sighs.

NiJedha’s gone. 

The dunes he raced over are gone. 

The dingy alleys where he joked with friends are gone.

The old fruit-seller who smuggled him pieces of the juiciest fruit is gone. 

The grandmas who constantly bemoaned the dust clouds from their speeder races were gone. 

_The Holy City is gone._

“Why do bad things happen to good people?” 

Chirrut’s voice morphs into his mother’s. “ _All is as the Force wills it.”_

Bodhi stiffens, because his mother usually followed with “ _and the Force has written them a poor fate”._  

Instead, Chirrut says, “Trust in the Force, and know that all will be balanced in the end.” 

He hadn’t heard that before. 

To have faith everything will be right in the end, even though there was so much darkness in the galaxy… that required a lot of bravery that Bodhi wasn’t sure he had. 

“You do,” Chirrut says suddenly. “It’s what brought you here.” 

“I was too late.” _Too late. His fault_. He bites on his lip, almost drawing blood. 

It’s Baze that replies this time. “We were too late for Jedha, yes.” There’s a pause, and when he begins again the sorrow in his voice is replaced with resolve. “But we aren’t too late to stop another Jedha from happening. To avenge our homeworld.” 

Chirrut nods. “We take our time to grieve. But we cannot grieve forever, for we run the risk of forgetting to act.” 

Bodhi subconsciously relaxes his fists, Galen’s voice echoing in his mind.

They were too late for Jedha. But they weren’t too late for the rest of the galaxy.

He’d do his best to save it. 


	4. making it right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 20th: Modern AU
> 
> Based in the same AU as my rebelcaptain week AU fic but you don’t need to read it for context! (basically, pre-canon in the modern universe)

“I’ve seen you street race. You’re really good. Especially for your age.” 

Bodhi looks up from his book at the tall boy looking down at him. He’s sitting with his back pressed against the wall outside his classroom - another time out for chucking airplanes at a classmate. 

(The classmate deserved it. He had wrinkled his nose at Bodhi’s patched up jeans and too-big sweater, the word _smelly_  and _stupid_  barely discernible from a string of mutters about his part of the city. Anger had boiled in his veins, words stuttering from his mouth - but he had promised his mom to never punch anyone ever again, not after the incident that had left Bodhi bruised and the other child bleeding with a broken nose. So paper airplanes would have to do.) 

He doesn’t know what he should make of the statement. He’s 13. He shouldn’t even be driving, much less street racing. Would this older boy tell on him? Bodhi slides off his too-weak reading glasses to get a better look.

The other boy looked much older than he probably was. He had the aura of most kids in Bodhi’s neighbourhood - boys who thought they were men, and acted like it. Out of need more than anything else. The kind of kids Bodhi’s mom warned him about. 

So he returns to his book.

“We need a kid like you.” 

Bodhi looks up again. 

“You’re smart. Too smart for this school. My sister is in your class. She tells me you’re always done all the work before everyone else. That you don’t even take homework home.” The boy crouches down to Bodhi’s side. “It’s a shame kids like us can’t afford a better education.” 

Bodhi had avoided thinking about what would happen to him after high school, but the Empire’s shadow loomed over him nonetheless. His mother worked day and night, and drilled the belief that if he worked hard at school, the money would come on its own. Scholarships, and all that. 

But Bodhi was smart enough to know the Empire would always have its way. 

School was boring, anyways. They were still finding areas of imaginary yards and volumes of non-existent pools while Bodhi spent his free time hanging around the mechanic shop, watching cars being taken apart and put back together. 

Racing offered him a freedom he didn’t have. The speed was exhilarating, of course, but it also gave him a physical and mental distance from his problems. Worries shrunk away as entire neighbourhoods turned into bright blurs. It was a an addictive drug. A rare one, too. 

He didn’t get to race as much as he liked. They didn’t have a car. (Not like his mom knew about his passion. Not like she’d approve if he told her.) Nobody would lend one to a tween either, not even the older racers.

Bodhi’s eyes flicker back to the boy sitting beside him. 

“Wh-what do you want from me?” he asks slowly. 

“We just want you to do what you love… for us,” the boy says. “Maybe we can help you pay for school in return. Get yourself a proper race car.” 

They boy elaborates and slowly, slowly, Bodhi shuts his book. 

* * *

Being a getaway driver was surprisingly routine. Every job, he read from the same mental script, codenames and addresses more familiar than his own. 

(The rigid structure of the Empire’s inner workings was surprisingly helpful. It was harder to mess up, harder for him to say the wrong thing when everything was regulated and standardized. The Empire was a weird gang in that aspect. But Bodhi knew that structure was what made the Emperor the leader of the biggest gang in the country.) 

It was great, at first. He got to _really_  drive. All sorts of cars he’d never imagined he’d ever get to touch, much less race in. It’s easy to ignore the contents of the trunk when the wheel is smooth at his fingertips and the exhilarating view of cities streaking by. 

Once he proved his ability, the Empire let him race. For _actual_  money. He even gained a reputation. They call him the Pilot. 

He couldn’t keep his nightlife a secret forever. He could only call them study sessions for as long as his marks stayed up. But they started needing a getaway driver during the day, and races were always held at night… so his marks began to plummet.

She noticed. 

She was worried at the start. Once she realized what he was up to, she was angry. 

Then she made the mistake of kicking him out.

She was lost to him forever.

* * *

It’s rare for Bodhi to have actual passengers on his routine runs. But today instead of boxes of god-knows-what, it’s a man in his backseat. Code name Laserbrain, apparently. (The Empire had the _worst_  code names.) It was still a delivery mission, but Bodhi wasn’t used to cargo that was, well, human. 

It takes all of two minutes before Bodhi attempts at striking up a conversation. “Um, hey.” he offers. 

He catches a glimpse of the man in the backseat when he looks into the rearview mirror. He could be his father’s age. 

“You’re not supposed to be talking to me,” the man says. Bodhi’s about to start worrying when he catches a touch of a smile on the man’s lips. 

“My cargo never replies,” Bodhi offers and the man chuckles. _Phew._  He settles into his seat, grasp relaxing on the steering wheel. 

“So,” the man begins. “What’s your name?”

“They call me the Pilot.”

“They call me _Laserbrain.”_ Bodhi catches him grinning in the rearview mirror.  “What’s your actual name?” 

“Bodhi,” he replies. “Bodhi Rook. And yours?”

“Galen Erso. You can just call me Galen,” the man replies.

“Nice to meet you, Galen.”

“And you, Bodhi.”


	5. some things can only be felt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 21st: After Scarif AU
> 
> Finally a proper (fluffy) roguejedi fic ft. heard of hearing bodhi! (please point out any inaccuracies)

“You’re the pilot.” 

Bodhi turns at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. “Sorr-” He stops mid sentence. 

He found himself face-to-face with Luke Skywalker, a wide smile threatening to split his face in two, eyes sparkling with curiosity. He blinks, speechless. 

“You’re the pilot!” Luke repeats. “The defector? The one who flew Rogue One out of Scarif?” 

All of a sudden Bodhi loses the ability to think coherently. “I-uh, yeah, yeah. yeah! That was me. I’m Bodhi.” He blinks, trying to regain his composure. “You’re Luke, right? You blew up the Death Star. The Jedi?” 

Luke laughs and Bodhi feels an unusual pang of disappointment and frustration. He thought he had heard everything he would ever need to hear, but… 

“I’m not a Jedi yet,” Luke explains. “But I’d like to be.” 

“Have you talked to the Guardians by any chance?” 

Luke nods excitedly. “I was meaning to! I heard you’re also from Jedha?” When Bodhi nods, Luke goes off on a tangent about Outer Rim worlds, sand dunes, different opinions on the Force, how he’d discovered the beauty in his planet - yes, even desolate Tatooine had its beauty - only after he’d left it.  

Bodhi misses half of what he says, partly because he’s speaking too fast for him to read his lips, party because he’s too distracted by… _him_? The way the artificial light of the hangar caught in his hair, the way his smile shone brighter than any star, the way he gestured with excitement. He had heard about Luke’s warm, cheery and welcoming aura, but to actually _feel_  it was…

“Bodhi?” Luke lightly taps his upper arm and Bodhi comes back to his senses. “Ah, I lost you, everyone here keeps telling me I talk too much,” Luke apologizes sheepishly. 

Bodhi can feel the warmth in his face. “No, no it’s not that! I mean, uh, people tell me I talk a lot too. When I, um, get excited. I totally understand. Uh…No, I’m just… just trying to get used this whole thing,” he gestures at the side of his face. Luke cocks his head at him, and it takes a moment - perhaps he reaches out in the Force - before his eyes widen in comprehension.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Luke says this time, slower and louder. “I really didn’t. Is this better?” 

“It’s okay, it’s not something I’ve been advertising.” Bodhi watches as Luke relaxes. “And yeah, that’s better.” 

“So, um, how… I mean, you’re still flying for the Rebellion? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Bodhi nods. Usually he’d have a snarky reply, but Luke is so genuinely earnest he explains: “I have a retrofitted cargo ship. All the alerts are visual, and there’s a voice-to-text display on the console.”

“Kinda like the Force. then,” Luke grins. Bodhi gives him a questioning look.

“I mean, I don’t use the nav computer, like the other pilots. I use the Force.” 

Bodhi just looks at him, corners of his mouth turning up into a smile, reflecting Luke’s. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.” 

For a moment everything slows, the buzz of the hangar fading around them - Luke still wearing a bright smile, Bodhi’s heart fluttering in his chest. 

Tentatively, Bodhi adds, “I mean, I-I know you’re busy with all the Jedi training and stuff, but… if you want to come check the ship out, just let me know.”

Luke visibly brightens, eyes growing wide with excitement. “Really?” Bodhi nods, relieved. 

“I’d love to!” 


	6. the bright center to the universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 22nd: Family
> 
> My version of Bodhi's backstory. (I don’t speak a n y urdu I’m so sorry if I messed up) tw for implied emotional manipulation :(

_“You’re a dreamer, beta.”_

_Bodhi’s startled by the old man watching him work away at the salvaged speeder. “Sorry?”_

_“You’re a dreamer,” the man repeats. “Your eyes are somewhere else. _You’d rather not be here._ ”   
_

_Bodhi shrugs. “I mean, who would?”_

_The man laughs, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “There are people who would do anything to come to Jedha. To The Holy City.”_

_“Yeah, but they don’t have to suffer like we do. They’re tourists.” Bodhi spits the word out like an insult.  
_

_“Pilgrims,” the man corrects him. “And many are suffering. The Holy City is their only hope.”  
_

_Bodhi watches him for a second longer before returning to wiping the grime from the dents on his dented speeder, shaking his head._

_“You’re destined for greatness, little one. It’s written in your fate,” the man continues, rubbing his beard. “But remember to cherish what you have now.”  
_

_He’d heard ‘stupidity’, ‘failure’ and ‘disgrace’ fall from the mouths of his mother and teachers, but greatness? The thought is so absurd Bodhi gets up, nods to the elder, and leaves, the ghost of the man’s laugh following him home._

_Years later, the words haunt him._

* * *

“Wooohoooo!” 

Bodhi cheers as the speeder whizzes past several food stalls, sending clouds of dust into the air and crushing discarded fruit. The roar of the engine drowns out the voices of the lamenting shopkeepers.

“Hold on tight Bo,” Nivi says. Twice his age and twice his size, Nivi had every reason not to hang out with her younger brother. She was mere weeks away from writing entrance exams for the Imperial Academy, yet here she was, racing through the streets of Jedha with her brother on her lap. 

Bodhi nods and grasps the speeder tightly, feeling Nivi grip him closer. 

They streak past the main city and head to the outskirts, far away from the holy sites and buzzing crowds. The speeder slows as they near home, as if it had recognized the second glances of their neighbours.

“Oi Nivi,” an elderly man calls cheerily as they slows to a stop, “Still taking your brother to the city?” 

“If not me, then who? He’s too young to drive the speeder himself.” 

“You mean _race_ , no?” The man’s chuckle intertwines with Nivi’s laugh, echoing off the walls of the alleyways. Nivi parks the speeder in the narrow alley behind their home. There was nothing grand, or even comfortable, in sight - but it was home. 

“I’m almost _nine_ _,_ aapa,” Bodhi looks up indignantly as Nivi swings her legs off the speeder. When she turns to lift him off he shakes his head. “I’m old enough to race!”

“Alright bhaiyya,” Nivi grins, pushing her goggles up off her face, bangs falling in her eyes. “When I come back from the Academy on holiday I’ll start teaching you to race, okay?” Her tone is light and teasing, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she picks up a rag. 

Bodhi watches her dust off the speeder, deep in thought. Nivi wasn’t due to leave for the Academy for at least another year. 

Nivi stretches and tosses the rag back over the speeder handles. “So, Mr. Rook, does that sound okay?”

Bodhi nods. “Only if you let me have your racing goggles,” he says. “Mine are getting too tight, and they’re not even _meant_  for races.” 

Nivi laughs. “They’re too big for you, Bo.”

“You won’t need them at the Academy.” Nivi makes a face. He was right. They got standard-issue military clothing upon arrival. She figures the instructors wouldn’t approve of an old pair of _illegal_  speeder racing goggles. She pulls off the goggles, swiping her bangs out of her face, and hands them to Bodhi.

He pulls off his own goggles, sets them in his lap, and attempts to put Nivi’s on. They immediately fall off his face and dangle around his neck. Nivi stifles a laugh. He pouts. 

“Try adjusting the straps, Bo.” He brightens at the suggestion, pulling the straps as far as they could go before putting them on again.

They were still a bit loose, but stayed. However, the goggles were so big he looked like some sort of creature from a children’s HoloNet series. 

“Ah, look at you. Mera bhaiyya, a future racing champion. Now, can you grab the groceries?” Nivi asks, taking Bodhi’s old goggles.

Bodhi leaps off the speeder, arms swinging for balance, and triumphantly lugs the largest bag of groceries into their house. 

“Ammi!” he yells, kicking his shoes off, “We’re home!”

Their mother materializes in the doorway. “Look at you both! All dusty!” She narrows her eyes at Nivi. “Did you race all the way here _again_?” 

Nivi gives her a sheepish smile. “I can only do it for a few more months.” 

“Don’t get into trouble, I don’t want a black mark on your record,” their mother says sternly. “Now come inside and get cleaned up. Aao,” she motions for Nivi to come inside. 

Nivi carefully slips off her shoes and heads to the ‘fresher, dropping the other bag on the counter as their mother turns to Bodhi. 

“Ah beta, did you bring in the groceries all by yourself?” 

“Haan, ammi!” Bodhi nods eagerly and, hands shaking from the effort, lifts up the too-heavy bag to his mother. It threatens to snap in his grip. She smiles down at him, taking the bag.

Bodhi later remembers peering above the counter beside Nivi, watching his mother carefully describe the step by step method of making a stew, chastising him when he leaned too close. He can still see the spices swirling into the liquid and turning the pot orange, sending clouds of warm steam into the air. 

This is one of the last happy memories on Jedha he can think of. 

* * *

He knows something’s wrong when he’s not woken up by the sound of Nivi in the shower or his mother banging on the door. He’s woken by the sound of cries. 

“How could she do this?”

Bodhi can hear the murmurs of a sympathetic crowd.

_First her husband, now her daughter. How will she cope?_

“Ammi?” He stops at the entrance opening into their small living space, rubbing the sleep out of his bleary eyes. “What’s wrong? Where’s Nivi?” 

The crowd stills at his entry. 

 _The poor boy. Not even ten. How will he handle it_? 

“Ammi?” 

One of the women leaning against their wall walks over, crouches by him. Bodhi recognizes her as a neighbour. “Shall I get you something to drink, beta? Some tea? Blue milk?” 

Bodhi shakes his head. “I want Nivi.” 

She bites her lip, eyes full of sorrow. “Nivi’s left.” 

“For the Academy? She still has time!” 

She shakes her head. “They said she was a rebel sympathizer, beta. Do you know what that means?”

The Rebellion against the Empire. Bodhi had heard the name in hushed whispers.

 _They’re trying to rid us of this disease. They’re our only hope_. 

Wasn’t that a good thing then? A secret, of course, but a good one. Bodhi nods excitedly. If Nivi had joined up with the Rebels… Ammi wouldn’t forgive her (rebelling doesn’t provide a steady income), but Bodhi would. Once he got over the fact she’d kept the secret from him.

“She left with the Re-” His question is cut short. 

“Don’t speak their name.” Bodhi’s mother stands up from where she was seated on a carpet, drawing herself to her full height. He’s always amazed at her regal posture, but today she’s hunched with sadness. Defeat. “Don’t you even _think_  of them.”

“Why, Ammi? Did she go with them?” 

Her eyes go cold. Bodhi’s suddenly aware of the neighbour lady’s hands on his shoulders. 

“She was going to.”

“Then where is she no-” A sound comes from the main entrance. Bodhi turns and sees a man talking to stormtroopers outside. 

Stormtroopers. _The carriers of the disease._ Why were they at their home?

Unless… unless Nivi had been caught. 

“They arrested her,” Bodhi says softly, anger creeping up on him. 

The neighbour lady shakes her head again.

“They shot her,” his mother says, voice devoid of emotion. “She’s with your father, now.” 

* * *

Bodhi runs. 

He runs as fast as he can. as far as his feet can carry him. Away from everything.

He runs far enough that he can scream at the sky and nobody can hear him. He yells until he’s hoarse, runs until his feet are blistered. 

He doesn’t touch the speeder for weeks. 

His marks plummet. No amount of the teacher’s stern looks and his mother’s strict routines can fix it.

He runs and runs until he’s tired of running. 

But he needs to go faster.

He doesn’t touch the speeder for weeks, until he has to.

Nivi’s goggles are still a too big for him, but his are too small now. He wipes away at the speeder and dust clouds are sent into the air, settling like ashes on his face and hair. 

He practices at night, under the stars, NaJedha shining bright in the sky. 

The fuel burns away like his anger. 

* * *

Nivi used to say their mother was nicer when their father was alive. Bodhi was too young to remember that version of her.

But he sees truth in her statement now.

His mother is colder, and harsher. Every step of his is a misstep to her.

Or maybe he’s getting klutzier, and dumber.

It’s probably a mix of both.

He flinches when she raises her voice. Then he flinches whenever she talks. Then he flinches at her presence.

“I’m going to the Academy,” he mumbles as a teenager, hair falling in his eyes, gaze cast at his feet. 

“Good.” There’s no life in her voice. “Don’t get into trouble.” 

* * *

As submissive he is at home, he gains a reputation outside. Nivi’s words come true. He’s an amazing speeder racer. 

He even makes money off it. He can’t bring it home, obviously, so he puts it back into his speeder, or spends it on his friends. He even bets on races, when he has enough credits. 

He still leads a happy life, laughing with friends till he cries, teasing and joking with them from the back benches of his classroom. There’s the absolute exhilaration he feels when he wins a race, and the butterflies in his stomach when his crush glances over at him.

But all of that burns away when he crosses the entrance of his home, and he has to earn it all over again when he leaves the next morning.

* * *

He gets in trouble once. The stormtroopers come out of nowhere and the race is shut down quickly. He chokes back a laugh at what he’s booked for: unlawful wagering on sporting events, and unsafe operating of a speeder. Minor things that wouldn’t affect his Academy entrance. It might even help, show his aptitude as a pilot.

Obviously, his mother wouldn’t see it that way.

So he heads home with worry fluttering in his stomach, an application form newly downloaded to his datapad, pocket lighter by all the credits he’d lost to the fine. He ducks his head under the doorway, avoiding eye contact, bracing for an inevitable storm. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, anyways. 

He doesn’t know if he should lie or tell the truth. Which would upset her more? He settles on a half truth. “I was looking at applications with friends. I’ve decided I’m going to the flight school, then trying for TIE fighter training.” 

“What were you doing before that?’

Bodhi looks up from his feet and meets his mother’s eyes. No disappointment, no anger. Just a dead expression. Anxiety spreads like fire, from the base of his stomach up his spine. His hands shake. 

“Every time I lower my standards, you manage to disappoint me further. If you don’t get into the Academy, how will we survive?”

A rebuttal catches in his throat. 

“If you join your father and your sister, what will I do? Who will I have? Have you considered this?” 

Of course he had. It’s why he was still trying at school, why he forced speeder racing to remain a pastime despite all the offers. He needed an escape from his daily troubles, and that was it.

He needed to escape. 

“Your head is always in the skies. You won’t look down until you’ve fallen into a pit.”

He shouldn’t be getting angry at her. She was right. It’s all his fault. But his hands are quivering anyways and it takes all his energy to say nothing, to keep them clenched at his sides. 

“Go,” she says. “Go study. Don’t pull anything like this ever again.” She sighs. “But I know you’re going to fail me anyways. You always do. They always do.” The last phrase is spoken under her breath, but he hears it loud and clear, words digging in like daggers. 

He drops his bag in his room, heads into the ‘fresher and turns the shower on. The cold water eases the shaking, but he has to clamp down on his mouth to hold back the screams of frustration. 

* * *

The Academy is freeing. It’s an oxymoron, really. The Empire thrived on heavy regulation. Everything was black and white. Us and them. Sharp crisp angles that left no room for error. (That was the hard part for him.) Teenagers were teenagers, and soon Bodhi had a tight group of friends. Some new, some old. They hid half-empty bottles under their beds, placed bets on who’d be the next couple, peered over shoulders for answers, sat in detention together, and waited outside the medbay together after a particular awful dare. 

The plastic chairs of the classrooms were far more comfortable than his bed at home. Here he was free from his mother’s perpetually scrutinizing eyes. So he dreaded spending the holidays at home, speeder races or not.

This holiday, he takes a job with the Empire, working as an apprentice under a cargo pilot. It’s a low level job, just routine trips to some busy Imperial-controlled planets. 

Bodhi’s helping the pilot load up the cargo when he hears his name. 

“Bo?” 

He turns and gasps.

“ _N-Nivi_?” 

She’s dressed in civilian clothing, but Bodhi recognizes a solider’s gait when he sees one. _She’s here on a Rebel mission_.

“It’s not safe for you here,” he blurts out. 

“Nice to see you too, bhaiyya.” Nivi steps towards him and she pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

He tries to form a coherent sentence, thrown off by how much _shorter_  she is. “W-we thought you were dead.”

“ _I_  thought I was dead. They saved me.” 

Bodhi pulls away from the hug. “I can’t believe you’re _with_  them,” he breathes. “What’s it like?” 

Nivi avoids the question, instead taking him in. “You’ve grown so much. And are those _my_ goggles?” She flicks the edge of the straps. “They let you keep them, huh.”

“What are you _doing_  here?”  Bodhi tries again. His pilot would be heading back to check on his progress any time now. 

Nivi sighs. “A little mission. Stealing some cargo.”

“On a secure planet?”

The corner’s of Nivi’s mouth twitch into a smile. “I’ve been on worse missions, Bo.” She pauses. “How’s Ammi? How’s Jedha?” 

Bodhi sets down the crate with a sigh. “They’re okay.”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s not your fault.” Bodhi meant it. He should be mad at Nivi for leaving, should be mad at her for not telling them she was alive, should be mad that she left him to suffer… but he can’t. “There’s two oppressive regimes in my life.” 

“And you decided to obey both of them?” 

 _Now_ he’s mad. “What, and leave like you did? You took the chance away from me. I’m responsible for Ammi now.”

Nivi sighs. “You’re right.” She kicks a few stones at her feet. “We can’t all fight for the greater good. Honestly, I shouldn’t have tal-”

“No,” Bodhi says. “No, I’m glad you talked to me. But you should go.” 

“I need to grab what I came for.”

The realization dawns on him. “I have the cargo you need.” Nivi nods. “Karking _rebels_.”

“Are we going to stage a fight or are you going to handle it?” Nivi looks over his shoulder. “Looks like your supervisor is coming. Be quick!” 

“Umm…” 

“I’ll give you a black eye, that’s it.” 

Bodhi’s eyes widen but it’s too late. She hits him a little too hard and he collapses with a thud. He hears someone shouting for troopers, and then blasterfire.

“No, don’t!” he shouts, waiting for his vision to clear, tears stinging his eyes.

It’s too late. He was too late. 

He was always too late.

* * *

He doesn’t go back to Jedha after that. He doesn’t want to hear his mother’s reprimand for getting into a scuffle with rebels. Didn’t want her to thank the stars that they had been ‘dealt with’, absolving Bodhi of any guilt in the Empire’s eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her about the rebel who had given him a black eye, not when _she_ stood before him like a ghost. 

He sends her the credits he earns from his summer internships. He doesn’t visit her after he graduates, knowing she’d scold him for not working hard enough to become a TIE pilot, when in reality, he just didn’t want to. 

Paychecks drop credits in his account as regular as a beating heart. Like clockwork, half is sent home. He doesn’t even need to think about it anymore. 

He forgets it all eventually. Forgets, or represses. 

Until Galen Erso sends him back.


End file.
